Mickey shrugged, conceding the point. “There’s the Lone Ranger style, just covering your eyes. Not very practical though. Damn things always fall off at the worst times.”
“We don’t say that word!” Riley said. “Except when we talk about beavers. Right Mommy?”
“That’s right sweetie,” Penny said, smiling. “Let’s keep it clean Mickey.”
Mickey bowed at the young girl. “Sorry, Princess Riley. I forgot my manners in front of a lady. Will you forgive me?”
Riley giggled and nodded, then resumed stuffing a spaghetti noodle down the straw of her cup.
“Anyway, assuming you don’t want a Lone Ranger mask, there’s a Batman-style cowl, or the full-face mask like Spider-Man, or the 3/4 one like Flash. Any of those sound good?”
“I was thinking—“ Chuck started.
“How does the full-face one work?” Penny asked, cutting Chuck off again.
“Spandex, usually. Not very comfortable, kind of hard to breathe, and they tear easily.”
“How about the Flash kind? Do those leave his mouth free?”
“Yeah, those are pretty nice. Kind of a good compromise. They cover quite a bit, so they make it hard to tell what you look like, but they’re not too constrictive.”
“That’s probably the way to—“
“CAPTAIN AMERICA!” Chuck said, slamming his fist on the table. “It’s going to be a combination helmet and mask like Captain America. I’m going to wear one of those. Me. I’m the one that’s actually going to be wearing it—not you two—so I get to pick. And I pick Captain America.”
“Hey!” Riley yelled. “We don’t yell. And we don’t hurt the table.”
“You know, he’s actually got a point there,” Mickey said to Penny. “Cap started with a regular Army helmet, and modified it to cover part of his face. It covered pretty well, and offered a lot of protection.”
“I bet we could get a helmet at an Army surplus store,” Penny said. “I could make the rest out of leather or something. Cover it all in fabric, and we’re good to go.”
Chuck looked back and forth between Penny and Mickey. “How do you all manage to still pretend I’m not here, even when you’re figuring out how good my idea was?”
“Nobody likes a gloater, Chuck,” Mickey said. “It’s not important who had the good idea, just that we got there eventually. Now, for pants, I think we should consider tactical pants, like SWAT teams wear. Lots of pockets, and they move well. Sturdy too.”
“But do they come in blue?” Penny asked.
Chuck got up and started cleaning up the kids. Might as well take them to play while the adults figured out his costume.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“How are the kabooms coming, Annie? Didn’t lose any of those lovely fingers mixing up the medicine, did you?”
Andromeda clenched her fists and took a deep breath. She refused to let Orion get under her skin. She accepted that some boys never grew out of the grade-school habit of picking on the girls they liked, but she wasn’t going to give this boy what he wanted.
“Still ten fingers, and I’m just about done on that end,” she said, shaking out her hands. She rolled her neck around, releasing the tension built up in her shoulders. As usual, she was grateful that they were meeting via video chat instead of in person. Keeping her voice neutral was strenuous enough. Controlling her body language enough to show the creep he wasn’t getting to her was exhausting.
“How about the locations?” Taurus asked.
She thought for a moment. “Either will work, really. The warehouse has better sight lines, and is easier to keep eyes and ears on. The factory has more cover, and will be easier to set traps. If I had to choose, I’d say the factory. But I’m good with either one, so it’s your call.”
“The factory it is then,” Taurus said without hesitation. “I trust your judgement. What will we need to do to prepare it?”
“We should all do a walk through together,” she replied, “so we can hammer out the details of the plan. I’ll need to know where we want him to come in, how we want to funnel him, and what our contingency plan is.”
“Sounds like a date”. Andromeda could practically hear the sleazy grin on Orion’s face.
“Tomorrow night then,” Taurus cut in, saving Andromeda from having to reply. “Midnight.”
“How much is there really to go through?” Orion asked. “It’s not like he’s going to put up a big fight. We’ll have all the leverage. And he won’t know what he’s capable of yet. Seems pretty simple to me.”
“A wise man once said ‘proper preparation prevents pissing powerful people off’,” Taurus replied.
“And some of us don’t want to end up dead because we underestimate the guy,” Andromeda said.
“Fine, fine. I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Orion said, relenting. “Do I need to bring anything?”
“Nothing more than you carry on you at all times,” Taurus said.
“I’m not talking about guns, T,” Orion said, a hint of mischief in his voice. “I was asking Annie if I should bring any kind of protection.”
Andromeda seethed. This was over the line, she thought, even for him. She managed to keep quiet though. Any response she gave would just encourage him.
“Annie? Are you ok? Are you ok? Are you ok, Annie?” Orion sung.
She closed the chat room with a click that made the plastic in her mouse groan. Why do I work with these guys?
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Have I ever told you how much I love early fall, Chuck?” Mickey sat on Chuck’s deck, cold beer in his hand. “That smells great, by the way. Remember, low and slow. Don’t want to burn the outside before the dark meat is done.”
Chuck sat on a bar stool, next to the grill, his hand pointed at a large chicken rotating on the grill’s rotisserie. “You know, the grocery store sells rotisserie chickens for like five bucks. They’re pretty good too. I can pop down there, grab one, and be back way before this bird would be done.”
“They pump those things full of all kinds of crazy shit.” Mickey took a huge swallow of beer. “I’m an all-natural kind of guy. Plus, you wouldn’t learn anything that way, now would you.”
Chuck switched arms. Enhanced endurance or not, holding an arm out like this got exhausting. “And what is it I’m supposed to be learning, Nature Boy?”
Mickey sat up straight, holding his beer out. “You’re supposed to be learnin’—whooo!—how to be—whooo!—the longest lastin’, best cookin’ man around. Whoooooo!”
“Was that supposed to be Ric Flair or Larry the Cable Guy?” Deep down Chuck thought Mickey’s act was funny, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of laughing.
Mickey clutched his beer to his chest. “I’m wounded. I guess I’ll be drinking myself to sleep tonight.” As if to prove his point, Mickey drained the beer and grabbed another. He extended it toward Chuck. “Here, chill this. But don’t stop cooking.”
“You want me to absorb heat and discharge it at the same time? Can I do that?”
Mickey shook the can impatiently. “Only one way to find out.”
Chuck kept his left hand facing the chicken, and kept a low, steady stream of heat pumping toward it. He slowly reached his right toward Mickey and grabbed the can. With considerable effort, he started pulling the heat out of the can, only to realize he was also pulling the heat out of the chicken. “Dammit.”
“What?”
“I thought I had it, but ended up chilling both.” He handed the beer back to Mickey, then resumed applying heat to the chicken, wondering how long he’d added to the cooking time.
Mickey cracked open the beer and took a sip. “Did you ever take piano lessons, Chuck?”
“I learned on my own, why?” He was getting used to Mickey’s apparent non-sequiturs.
“Ever play anything syncopated? Different rhythms in each hand?”
“Of course. Is this going somewhere?”
“Was it easy to get each hand doing its own
thing, independent of the other?”
Chuck suddenly saw where this was going. “No, it took a lot of practice. You think absorbing and discharging is the same way?”
Mickey grimaced. “Will you stop saying ‘discharge’? Sounds like something I should look for out of an infected wound. But yes, that’s what I think. I saw Max pull and push at the same time, so I’m pretty sure you can do it.”
“You know, you could start with that kind of info, then we could work it out. You don’t always have to be so cryptic.”
Mickey smiled and finished his beer. “Where would the fun be in that? Now, focus on that chicken. All these beers on an empty stomach can’t be good for me.”
“Daddy, this is delicious.” Riley’s face and hands were covered in chicken grease.
“Thanks, sweetie,” Chuck said. It was pretty good, he had to admit. He was used to cooking dinner, but being the actual heat source was new to him. His mind wandered thinking about the other things he could cook this way. He wondered if he could cook a steak low and slow until it was almost done, then blast it at the end for a really good crust.
“Not bad, but the white meat is a little over cooked. Next time you need to keep the temperature down a bit.” Despite his complaint, Mickey had cleaned his plate.
“Don’t listen to him honey, this was great.” Penny had also cleared her plate, and gone back for seconds. “Almost as good as one from the grocery store.”
Chuck shot her mock hurt expression. She winked in reply. Part of the reason he loved her so much was that she was able to embed a compliment in phony insult.
She started gathering empty plates from the table. “What else do you boys have on the training schedule tonight?”
“We’re taking it easy tonight,” Mickey said.
“We are?” Since it was still early, Chuck had figured they were going to get some more work in.
“Yep, I’m going to watch the rugrats, Penny’s going to go relax for a bit, and you’re going to do the dishes. Then we’re going to sit on the deck and have a chat.”
Chuck didn’t like the sound of that. But at least it wouldn’t be physically draining. Cooking that chicken was hard on his arms, and he could use a light night.
Bzzzzzzpt. Bzzzzzzpt. Bzzzzzzpt.
“Of all the crazy stuff you’ve made me do, this is by far the most fun.” Chuck took a long drink from the tumbler of bourbon in his right hand, then reached out with his left. “So be it Jedi. If you will not be turned you will be…destroyed.”
Lighting leapt from his outstretched fingers, arcing seemingly random directions. Bzzzzzzpt. Bzzzzzzpt. Two mosquitos dropped onto the deck.
Mickey steepled his fingers. “Good, good. The Force grows stronger in you, my young apprentice.”
Chuck laughed. “When you said we needed to chat, I’ll admit, I was a little worried. I didn’t realize that was just a smokescreen to get Penny to let us sit out here and drink while she got the kids in bed. Bravo, Mickey!” He held his glass out to Mickey for an uncomfortably long time.
Mickey’s expression grew serious. “Put your arm down, Chuck. You look like an idiot. It wasn’t a smokescreen. We do need to chat.”
Chuck retracted his arm, taking another sip along the way. Whatever was coming, he was pretty sure the booze would help. “What do we need to chat about?”
“The time has come, the walrus said, to speak of many things. Of shoes and ships and sailing wax, and whether you’re ready to test these skills in the real world.”
“What, no segue from Star Wars to Alice in Wonderland?”
“It’s Through the Looking Glass, but close enough. Focus on the last part.” Mickey paused to finish his own drink. “You’re getting pretty good at controlling the things you’ve picked up. And Penny has a good working prototype of a costume finished. We need to figure out if you’re ready to zap something other than bugs.”
Chuck wasn’t surprised this was what Mickey wanted to talk about. He knew this day was coming, and he figured he was getting pretty close to being ready. Knowing it was coming didn’t make him less nervous, though. When he’d decided to take on the role of hero he knew that he’d be out in public, fighting crime. Nothing between him and the bad guys. Danger at every turn. But knowing it in the abstract, and being faced with the reality of it were two different things.
“Do you think I’m ready?”
Mickey seemed like he expected the question. “Physically? Yeah. Mentally?” He shrugged. “Only you can tell.”
“What’s it like? Being face to face with a criminal? Being the only thing keeping innocent people from getting hurt? Putting yourself at risk to do it?”
Mickey sat his glass down and rubbed his eyes. “What do you want to hear, Chuck? Do you want me to tell you it’s great? Not scary at all? That every day is a new adventure, and you can’t wait to see what it holds?”
“I know better than that, Mick. I’m not a bright-eyed kid, ready to rush off to danger just for a good story. I just want the truth. What was it like for you?”
“It’s a job. I was in high school when I got my powers, and I couldn’t wait to put them to good use. So, I trained, and studied, and trained some more. My classmates played sports. Stayed out late on weekends. Felt each other up in the hallways. I researched every comic book character I could find that existed in real life. I read every issue of every comic featuring those heroes, and I studied their tactics, their morality, how they dealt with threats. Their villains became my enemies, and I learned everything I could about them. The girls in my school took up sewing so they could have fancy prom dresses. I learned to sew so I could make my first costume. I sacrificed all the normal teenage experiences so that, when the time came, I could make a difference.
“I graduated and went to college, figuring that I would need a good plan for after my hero days were over. College was more of the same. No frat parties, no binge drinking, no crazy hookups. Just focused study and training. I managed to graduate with a degree in finance in three years. Got a good job. Once I was settled in at my job, I decided it was time.
“The Crimson Blur made his debut on a scorching night in late July. I monitored the police scanner, listening for something reasonable to start with. Something mundane. When I heard the call about a liquor store robbery, I sprang into action. I was on the scene in less than a minute, long before the cops could get there. It was a standard small time crook. Ski mask and stolen handgun. I disarmed him and had him tied up before he knew what hit him, and I left him for the cops.
“It was the biggest high I had ever felt. I didn’t fully come down for days. And like any high, I had to chase it. Had to get another hit. Every day I’d go to work and do everything I could to move up the ladder at the firm. At night, I’d listen for the right opportunity to hit the streets. Soon, common robberies weren’t enough to excite me. It had to be a bank robbery. Then hostage situations. I couldn’t get enough.
“By the time I met Max I wasn’t doing it for the greater good anymore. Sure, I told myself I was trying to help people. But really, I was just a junkie, looking for my next high. Max managed to reset me, keep me running for a few more years. But when Emily got killed, any part of me that wanted this life died too.
“Point is, I poured my whole life into chasing this, and it turned into an addiction. I got exactly what I wanted, and it broke me. So, I might not be the right person to ask.”
He sighed and stood up. “Holy shit. I need another drink.”
Chuck sat in silence as the older man went inside to pour himself a well-deserved drink. He considered Mickey’s story, and how it applied to him. True, he wasn’t young, and he hadn’t dreamt of being a hero. And he hadn’t trained for years, waiting for the opportunity. But, he did decide to keep the cape partly because he wanted the adventure and excitement. Was he going to end up chasing those, rather than really trying to help people?
Mickey returned from the kitchen and eased himself back into his chair. Chuck noted he had traded
his rocks glass for a pint glass, and had nearly filled it with top shelf bourbon. He started to scold his mentor, but decided to let it go. The staggering amount of openness and honesty the man had just shown deserved some kind of reward.
“Thank you for telling me that,” Chuck said. “I’m not sure I know what to make of it yet, but it means a lot to me that you shared it.”
Mickey didn’t reply. Instead he lifted his glass, opened his mouth, and drained the tall drink in a continuous string of long gulps. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, loosed a burp that would wake a kraken, and fell face first out of his chair.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Drink this.”
Mickey heard the words, but couldn’t form them into anything more meaningful than a random collection of sounds. He struggled to open his eyes, managing to pry one lid open a fraction of an inch. That eye painted a poorly focused watercolor on his brain. “Bwuuuh?”
“Drink. This.”
This time the sounds formed words and he managed to attach meaning to them. She wants me to drink something. Gotta get these eyes to see what “this” is. He poured every ounce of strength he could muster into his eyelids, silently cheering when they both obeyed and opened halfway. His eyes exacted revenge for their disturbance by refusing to focus.
Mickey’s nose finally joined the party, seizing on the aroma of coffee. His nose took control, forcing his eyes to focus on the white mug only inches from his face.
“Who? What? Where?” The words were barely audible from his treacherous throat.
“Jesus, Mickey. You don’t even know where you are? Drink this, then we’ll talk.”
He pulled himself up to a sitting position, opening his eyes fully and looking around. Chuck’s basement. Why am I in Chuck’s basement? He took the steaming mug from Penny’s hand and held it under his nose, letting the smell jump start his brain. “What happened? Why am I here?”
A Dad in a Cape (Mr Wonder Book 1) Page 14